


before the storm

by springsoldier (ladydaredevil)



Category: Daredevil (Comics)
Genre: Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Gen, Not Really Character Death, Secret Wars (2015)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:11:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5464436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydaredevil/pseuds/springsoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt Murdock takes a vacation. Predictably, the world ends. </p><p>A "Last Days of Daredevil" story</p>
            </blockquote>





	before the storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragonbat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonbat/gifts).



So, Foggy’s not dying anymore. That’s pretty great, because Matt wouldn’t have known what to do with himself. He’s used to losing people, but losing Foggy would be – Well. Matt’s been there before, back in prison.  

It was – He wasn’t looking forward to experiencing it again, is all.

He’s glad not to have to think about it anymore. Matt hasn’t been looking at the risks of _it_ coming back, because it’s not going to happen, and if Matt has to force-feed Foggy vegetables for the rest of their lives, so be it.

So, all’s said and done, Matt’s enemies have been thwarted for the moment, the practice is doing okay, all things considered (the public apology has helped them regain some credibility, and for the rest, well, there are always people willing to have Daredevil as their lawyer, if only for bragging rights). Kirsten remains great, the book is selling ridiculously well (it is, quite honestly, ridiculous), the buzz around his identity being public has quieted down a little, and Foggy’s _fine_. Things are going suspiciously well, in fact.

Well, it’s not _all_ done. They still have to do the paperwork so Foggy is officially alive again, and Foggy’s still recovering and disbarred and doesn’t have the convenient California fallback.

They’re both homesick, too, for all that Hell’s Kitchen is, as always, a mess – maybe even more so, since all the usual suspects seem to have followed Matt to San Francisco.

Matt’s itching to go home and beat some upstarts into submission.

San Francisco’s nice. He and Foggy can’t be lawyers in New York anymore. Kirsten likes it here.

Matt _really_ wants to go home.

But then what? Vigilantism doesn’t pay, and even though the book is doing great, most of it is going to hospital bills and office bills and damages to clients who got caught in the Shroud’s scheme, and charity, and cancer research, and a million other things.

Not to mention the fact that that money should technically be Foggy’s, since he’s the one who wrote the damn thing.

 “Matt!”

“Hm?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“No I’m not.” He frowns. “Doing what?”

“ _Brooding.”_

So, Matt’s been thinking a lot lately. According to Kirsten, that means he’s been _brooding_. Which is not true! Because there’s no reason for it, because everything’s just _fine._

“I’m just thinking.”

“Yeah, that’s his thinking face” Foggy says, rustling the newspaper he’s been reading, offering up interesting tidbits to Matt. Kirsten has been swearing under her breath at the crosswords for the last half-hour. “If he were brooding he’d be on top of a building somewhere.”

Matt shrugs, because he can’t really argue with that assessment. Foggy has apparently reached the classified ads because he adds:

“Do you think I could be a guidance counselor? I think I would make a good guidance counselor.”

“You’re a _lawyer_.”

“Not these days, buddy.”

Matt frowns, guilt twisting in his stomach.

“We’ll find a way.”

“Look, it’s not the end of the world, career changes happen—“

“But it’s not _fair_ \--”

Kirsten sighs.

“You’ve had this conversation three times this week already, guys.”

Matt leans back into his seat, arms crossed, but Kirsten continues on, undaunted.

“You know what you need? A vacation. Foggy could use some fresh air. A change of pace would do you both good, and when’s the last time you got some rest, Matt?”

Matt considers the offer. He doesn’t really _do_ vacations for a number of reasons. But there is, for the first time in _years_ , actually nothing pressing going on. He has no idea when the next disaster will strike – and it will – or how long it might last.

“Well, what about you?”

“Someone has to hold the fort. I can deal with the cases we have for now, we don’t have anything big in the next few weeks.”

“I’m in if you are,” Foggy says. “Actually, even if you’re not. I just really want to _do_ something.”

“Fine. Where do you want to go?”

“Not too far. Somehow I don’t think my passport’s valid anymore.”

Matt puts that on the list of a million things that still need to be done before Foggy’s life can go back to normal. But if there’s somewhere he wants to go…

“Not a problem. Someone who owns a plane probably owes me a favour.”

“Aaand you should probably save that for something more important.”

Matt has to admit that it might be safer, although Danny probably wouldn’t mind lending them his plane either way… Does Danny still have a plane?

 They throw around ideas for a while, until Kirsten chimes in:

“My dad has a cabin, if you want. I’m sure he’d be fine with renting it to his new cash cow. Although he might try to convince you to write a sequel.”

Matt and Foggy groan as one.

 

They end up taking the cabin, but firmly turn down the offer to write Foggy’s autobiography next.

 

So Foggy enjoys the beach, and Matt – well, Matt sleeps a lot, actually. The sound of the ocean is soothing and he’s not constantly aware of the sirens and the sounds of people getting mugged. He doesn’t think for one second it’s not happening, but. Somehow it seems less urgent when he can’t actually hear it. Then there’s Foggy’s snoring, but that just reminds him of their Columbia days.

All in all it’s – peaceful. So isolated that Matt can barely hear the closest neighbours, though there are plenty of sounds from the surrounding wildlife.

A man could get used to this sort of lifestyle – Definitely not Matt, and probably not Foggy, but someone. Matt’s a little twitchy with it, the fact that there’s no crime taking place within earshot at any given moment, and if he almost ran off to break up a rowdy argument between the closest neighbours the first night they were there, it’s only out of habit.

It occurs to Matt that for all they’ve spent most of their adult lives seeing each other almost daily – disastrous periods excluded – they haven’t had much time to just enjoy each other’s company. They’ve spent more time together recently: Matt was at the hospital as often as he possibly could be, when Foggy was there, but the awfulness of the situation and the fact that the smells were barely tolerable to his enhanced senses didn’t exactly make for quality time. 

So they drink beer on the porch and talk about a lot of things, the past and the future and the mistakes they made and the people they lost and the friends they found. While talking is very much not Matt’s favourite way to deal with things, he has to admit that it helps putting things into perspective.

It turns out Foggy really has made his peace with the fact that he needs to find a new job, and though it pains Matt more than he’s willing to say that there won’t be a _Nelson & Murdock _in the foreseeable future, he has to admit that, all things considered, Foggy’s career is a pretty small price to pay. Foggy has no idea what he wants to do, except that it won't be writing. It's weird, Foggy says, how much has become public knowledge about their lives because of the book. Things he hadn't even remembered before he's dug into their old files for research purposes.

They talk old cases and new cases and about the fact that at least Matt’s never going to have to sue Daredevil again. Foggy spends a lot of time filling paperwork, and considerably more complaining about it. Matt calls Kirsten for updates on their cases (and because she has a really lovely voice) even though she laughs at him and the way he’s chronically unable to take a break.

Matt teaches Foggy a few boxing moves, just for the hell of it. Foggy’ll never be a great fighter, and he certainly won’t be flipping off of rooftops, but he’s much stronger now that he’s off the chemo and Matt’s so, so glad.

Maybe they should do this vacation thing more often. Every five years or so, at least.

 

Three days in, and Matt is outside, meditating on the porch, because he’s been neglecting that side of his training lately, when Foggy’s heartbeat spikes enough to throw Matt off.

He rushes back into the house, on high alert.

“What’s wrong?”

The television is on, reporting news from New York, and… something’s going on. Which isn’t unusual, there are supervillain attacks and other disasters all the goddamn time, but they don’t usually worry Foggy _that_ much. Whatever it is, it must be big. His radar sense is useless when it comes to screens, and there’s too much chaos to make out what the reporter is trying to say.

“What, what is it?”

Matt is struck by the irrational need to charge into danger, even though it’s on the other side of the country and probably way above his level. The Avengers and the Fantastic Four and whoever else is active these days must be on it, surely, whatever it is?

“It’s… a planet.”

“A what?”

And Matt never mishears things, but this time he sincerely hopes his hearing is off. Foggy stammers his way through an explanation, in shock.

Matt remembers hearing it in the news, a few months back, talk about the so-called incursions and the universes collapsing and the people trying to do something about it. He’d just… assumed it was being handled, like the occasional alien invasion and other cosmic threats. So far above his level that he hadn’t bothered paying it much attention until it was in punching or suing range.

He’s always known, objectively, that a good number of his friends and acquaintances contain potentially world-ending threats on a regular basis. But somehow it never occurred to him that one day they might _fail._

“Well, now I regret ever saying the world wouldn’t end if you took a break.” Foggy adds, faint.

Matt makes an attempt at a laugh, but it catches in his throat. This is bad. Still, there have been close calls before. He’s not exactly an optimist, though he’s been trying lately, but he has a hard time conceiving that this could be _it_ for everyone and everything.

"How long?"

" About an hour, they said..."

Matt swallows. A very close call. Still, nothing's impossible.

He can hear explosions – the other earth is trying to go out with a bang, too – and wonders if there’s a Matt Murdock over there and what he’s thinking about all of this.

The screams are what gets to him. Extinction is a little hard to digest, but people who need rescuing…

“I should be there.”

“Doing what, Matty? Even you can’t do anything about _this._ ”

“I don’t know. Helping.”

It would be better than standing there, helpless. Helpless doesn’t suit him. He fumbles for his phone, to get some information if nothing else.

He tries to reach Natasha. Luke. Danny. Peter. Anyone who might know more about what’s going on.

Jessica Jones is the only one to answer. She doesn’t know much more than he does, only that it’s _bad_ , and she can’t talk long. She’s waiting for news from Luke and his team. Matt can hear her daughter in the background. They both sound calm.

“Good luck,” he says. “I wish – I wish I could do something.”

“Yeah. Don’t we all.” She says something to Danielle, voice soft, and the toddler laughs. “Goodbye, Matt.”

Matt calls Kirsten. _She’s_ being a hero, trying to keep people calm and safe. She says her dad is going to meet up with her soon. She’ll be fine. She loves him.

“I love you too.” Matt might be crying. The reception is awful, the networks overwhelmed and the call gets cut short. He knows she can take care of herself, she’s taken great pains to hammer it into his head, but he can’t help thinking that he failed her, somehow.

That he failed everyone.   

He wishes he knew how to reach his mother. Elektra. God, _Milla._

Foggy’s on the phone, too, on the other side of the room. Saying goodbye to someone.

He must lose the call, because he drops his phone with a curse and sits down heavily, head in his hands. He looks up at Matt eventually, because he says, incredulous:

“Matt? Is that your guilty face I see?”

“…No? I just. Feel like I should’ve done something to stop this.”

“You’re fucking kidding me. God, the ego on you.”

Matt cracks a smile. Foggy being Foggy and shutting down his delusions of grandeur is possibly the most comforting thing there is.

“Fine. Maybe not stop it. But I should be out there, doing something.”

Foggy takes a few deep breaths, keeps his composure.

“I know I’m being selfish here, but I’m actually glad we’re not over there, because then you’d be out there running around and I just – I’m glad you’re with me, Matt.”

Matt, who’s been calculating how long it would take them to get to the nearest town, because there are probably people there who need help containing the chaos the news must have unleashed, freezes.

He couldn’t have done it for himself, stayed put as the world came crashing down around them, but Foggy – Foggy deserves not to be alone.

“I… yeah.”

Matt sits down next to Foggy, like by being close he can somehow shield his friend from what’s coming. They stay pressed together on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, at a loss for what to say.

“All that chemo for nothing,” Foggy sighs, obviously in shock, and a slightly hysterical giggle escapes Matt.

“I knew thing were going too well.”

There’s nothing funny about it, really. All the blood and tears and sweat. Everything they’ve lost and won along the way, for all of it to be for nothing? What was the point?

Except – he thinks of the last few days. The fact that they got here, in spite of everything. The fact that every person he’s saved got another shot at having a good day. Maybe that was enough of a reason to do it all.

Matt breathes. He’s not afraid, not of death. Never has been.

He just wishes there was more time.

Well, it's not over yet.

“Foggy, I just wanted to say – I haven’t thanked you enough for sticking with me, through all of it. My life’s been such a mess and _I_ ’ve been such a mess. Well. You know. You were there.”

Foggy shrugs.

“It was worth it, Matty. All of the ugliness. We’ve talked about this before. You’re a hero, you know that. And – ugh, I can’t believe I’m telling you this – most of all, you’re _my_ hero. So there.”

“I…” Matt is rarely speechless, but at that he can only hug Foggy like he’s the only thing he has left in the world.

Eventually, Foggy clears his throat, and they both pretend they haven’t been tearing up.

“Matt, you believe in Heaven, right? Tell me about it.”

He thinks of his dad, and Karen. Foggy’s heading there for sure, and Matt’s pretty certain the good he’s done outweighs the bad.

“Of course it does,” Foggy cuts in.

“Well there’s the whole devil thing, you know.” Matt jokes, but the certainty in his friend’s voice is reassuring. Foggy knows him best, and if he’s sure…

“Oh, shut up. Wait, no. Keep talking.”

So Matt does.  

And, eventually, the world goes bright.

 

 

Matt wakes up, disoriented and confused, and it takes him a second to recognise the familiar sounds and smells surrounding him.

He feels more hungover than he has been since college, and Foggy is snoring away somewhere close by, but he can’t for the life of him remember what it is they did to deserve this.

He rushes to the window, startling Foggy, who was apparently passed out on the couch, awake in the process.

“—Matt? Wha?”

“Are – are we in Hell’s Kitchen?”

Foggy sits up gingerly, clutching at his head, and his reply is both pained and amused at Matt’s expense.

“Well, yeah, of course. Where else would we be?”


End file.
